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Well, we got up, then, in good time next day, hoping to rectify the professor's interference, and stumbling along with Stajitch, we reached the high-roofed "Dürer" dwelling where resided the commandant of the village. In the kitchen we found two women with bare feet, two children and a man half undressed. He brought in the captain, also in negligée. Now, mark, we were in Montenegro.
The professor had been trying to pump Stajitch as to our future plans, as he was again alone and rudderless. Stajitch said "Mr. and Mrs. Gordon alone know, and they are in Cettinje." "Now that's not kind to keep a fellow countryman in the dark," said the professor.
When the others came he wavered. Miss Brindley did not look like a comitaj; and by the time we arrived he began to talk about the military situation in the Balkans, and rode off with the politest of farewells. If there isn't a telegraph wire to guide, don't take short cuts. Jan, Stajitch, and Jo tried to race the darkness by cutting straight down a ravine.
Stajitch assured him he knew nothing; but the professor walked away, murmuring that the English were undermining a good Serb boy's character. And that was the last of the professor. We caught the mayor in the morning. He was in his shirt-sleeves and he said that the auto had been arranged for. It came and we packed in. On the back perched a boy who outsmelt any Serb we had ever found.
We did not expect to see anything before morning of the harbour-master or of Stajitch who had gone with him; but just as we were settled and beginning to snore and the rats were running about, Stajitch poked his head through the window and said that the boat was going immediately.
The swarthy countenances about the bonfire, the queer costumes in the flickering fire, left us unmoved. Sleep was impossible. The wind caught one in every corner, threatening lumbago. Stajitch fled and camped outside in one of the carriages, despite the rain. We started as early as possible dawn. Whatmough, Cutting, Jo and Jan lost the road, but were eventually rescued by a policeman.
He had not returned the boots to their owner, so we took them from him and gave them to their rightful owner, and handed over to the corporal a spare pair of our own boots to keep him honest. At dawn Stajitch, who had been sleeping in style upon a friend's table, came to say we had six horses, but a professor had turned up in the night and was coming with us.
The captain had been ordered to fetch the strangers: but strangers and mattresses are only one letter different, "n" or "m," this letter had been transposed. Luckily it was a beautiful moonlight night. The lake was wonderfully romantic. A fat Serbian captain, who seemed to know Stajitch, made a request.
We bargained for rooms at our old inn mixed beds and floors. The owner was asking more than ever; he shrugged his shoulders and raised his hands. "The war increasing prices." So we took what we could, put Stajitch to bed, saw the prefect, our old friend from Chainitza, who promised us a carriage for Cettinje in the morning.
The motor buzzed up and downhill, incessantly twisting and turning: what we could see of the view from the back waved to and fro like Alpine scenery seen in the cinematograph. Stajitch became violently seasick with the fumes of benzine, which arose from two big tanks we were taking along, and lay with his head lolling miserably out of the back of the car. Pod once more, sleepy, inhospitable Pod.
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